


breaking pattern, breaking ground

by pomme (manta)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Music, M/M, and a bunch of other characters appear, cameos from oikawa and sawamura and aihara, ennoshita-centric pov, oboist!Akaashi, violinist!Ennoshita
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-26 19:10:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6252019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manta/pseuds/pomme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He thought of progress, of going further, over a silent breakfast with Kazu and Hisashi. This is, technically, already a greater distance than he's ever been. But as Chikara took the final bite of his tuna onigiri and waits now as one face in a milling crowd, he knows he wants <i>more</i>."</p><p>Fresh from a bout with disappointment and self doubt, university second year violinist Ennoshita Chikara is thrust into the position of Concertmaster in the esteemed Shirobane Orchestra. Through music, he learns the significance of his new title and the importance of believing in himself - and meets an oboist who redefines and confirms what he knows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	breaking pattern, breaking ground

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kiddolane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiddolane/gifts).



> kiddolane requested an EnnoAka music school AU for rarepair exchange! I do hope you like :D
> 
> Shout out to Alex, Catrin, Celia, Michi, Kendra, and Megan for their encouragement! And HUGE HUGS to Jun and Lark for beta-ing, going along with my spiels on what I was writing, and just... EVERYTHING. *keysmashes* THANK YOU EVERYONE i'm seriously so grateful <3

Ennoshita Chikara arrives at Warm Up Room 6 in this state: nervous, sweating, and extremely early.

The perspiration is a given by now. Striding from the university dorms to the main campus takes a good fifty minutes, even on the best of days and without a heavy, elongated case whacking his right thigh. But the music school isn't named _Nisshou,_ sunlight, for nothing. Despite the fact that spring occurs in April, the sun tends to show its hand early around these parts, beating in its direct but not yet full strength down on the concrete path. Good for the solar panels and conservatories and the buildings that rely on the sunlight, not so much for a second year student who, in spite of generally being perceived as things like "bright" and "sensible", isn't as rational as he can be.

 

 

"You're going now?" Hisashi asked, still sandwiched in his comforter. "We don't have to be there until ten!"

Kazuhito was up, but just barely. He entered Hisahi's room wearing one black sock, the other in his hand. "He was really early for his entrance audition, too. Weird habit, but it's harmless."

"It's not weird," Chikara protested, feeling ganged up on. "I need some time to think and prepare."

At this, his dorm mates shared exasperated looks. " _Some_ time makes sense. Enough to make a five course meal, not so much," Hisashi said. "Don't use that time to think too much about needlessly complicated stuff."

"Think about sensible things, like taking the bus," Kazuhito said. "Which I assume you're not doing."

"Geez, you're _walking_? Here." Hisashi tossed a cereal bar sitting on his nightstand, and Chikara caught it with one hand. "At least eat that, we can't have you dying on us. There's no way Kazu and I can afford this place on our own."

"Thanks a lot, Hisashi." Chikara double checked his bag for his music, keys, student ID, and water bottle. "Well, I'm going ahead. See you."

He looked at Hisashi and Kazu, outwardly unprepared in their boxers and faded sleeping shirts, but ready in the way that mattered most. Their instruments, already packed carefully away, had the wear and tear to show for their efforts. They would not end this audition dejected, together in Chikara's room in another resigned, downtrodden silence. Instead, they would leave the audition having all tried, come what may.

"We'll be there," Hisashi said, and Kazu placed the hand not holding his sock briefly on Chikara's instrument case. "That's a promise."

 

 

Chikara places his instrument down and settles into a padded chair. Ingrained habits keep his posture straight and feet flat on the floor, but he undoes all of that with one deep sigh, slouching against the chair's back. The room is dimly lit, but only because it's situated on the opposite side of where the sun currently is. The illumination will come soon enough, and Chikara wishes he only had as much certainty in his own aspirations.

"Violin Performance and Music Theory," he'd said, when asked what he planned to study in the entrance interview. He had been sure enough at the time, and the admissions interviewer nodded as she glanced over his academic transcript.

"Sensible choices for a bright boy like yourself," she'd said, pushing up her glasses. "But between you and me, brightness on its own won't get you far. The thing is, you lack conviction. Right now that's acceptable, as we don't expect every applicant to know exactly what they want to do. But the willingness to stretch yourself is vital to your survival anywhere, understand?"

Chikara had agreed, promised to apply himself toward pushing his boundaries, left with the mustered determination to audition for Nisshou's esteemed Shirobane Orchestra. And then, he'd walked out of this very warm up room, a year ago today.

He had arrived on time.

He'd planned to arrive early, as per tradition, but road construction work had resulted in temporary routes that wove through the worst of the traffic. To make matters worse, his bus had broken down in the heat, at too far a distance to walk to campus - and the delays had given Chikara enough time to second guess himself. In the preceding weeks, he'd finished three books on film criticism under the guise of intellectual growth, composed a work for his Composition class that was twice as long as it needed to be, justifying his lack of motivation to practice the orchestral audition pieces on the fact he already practiced violin in class and for the ensembles he was required to join as a full-time music student. All the while, his instrument remained in its place behind his door, out of sight but not out of mind.

Then, there was the thundercloud who'd conducted the orchestra at the time. The fact that Ukai Ikkei earned notoriety for asking a lot of his students in a school with an already demanding curriculum, said everything. String players complained of "callouses upon callouses"; bandages, in addition to the extra strings and mutes, were a staple item in their cases. An aspirin trade thrived among the double reed woodwind players, to combat headaches created by prolonged internal pressure. And their accomplishments showed: the Shirobane Orchestra, named to emphasize the feather-light effortlessness with which they performed even the most difficult pieces, commanded prestige throughout Japan, and still further.

Perhaps it was the thought of his parents, still recovering from the blow of their straight-As son choosing music and warily watching for any reason to pull him back into an academic field where they didn't imagine his future as abroad, poor, and destitute. Perhaps it was the auditioning flute player who was scolded for eating, but played with a tone so ethereal her notes almost danced off the page. Or the tuba player who'd slapped her own cheeks to focus, and looked positively diminutive next to her instrument until she blasted a note that practically cracked the ceiling. Or the knowledge that Chikara was one among many vying for the prize, still a forgettable face in rows of violinists, and his being there or not didn't make a difference.

Nerves. Pressure. Self-doubt. Fear. A tiny tuba player. Regardless of the reasons, Chikara simply hadn't felt _ready_.

He'd expected the relief to wash over him in waves. It initially did, spiking along with the adrenaline as he sped down the hall, the gruff "Next!" reverberating in his ears as he widened the gap between himself and the audition room with every step he took. He'd walked faster, knowing Ukai waited ("Next! Auditionee Number Twelve!") for someone who was no longer there. And in the moment before he met Hisashi and Kazu, who were in the process of deserting their respective viola and cello auditions, ("Last call for Auditionee Number Twelve!") Chikara was in full agreement with his parents' sentiments: he didn't have what it took to succeed in music on his own.

It had been easier, at first. He'd continued the way he had, practicing his usual hours. He'd listened to his classmates gush over the orchestra's achievements and sigh at the honors, with a bemused, self-important distance. He'd refused invitations to performances, when he had important projects to finish, tests to study for. He'd fooled himself into thinking he was the clever one, for a while.

But finally, once the initial sense of ease faded, there had come a slow and heavy onset of terrible guilt - the sinking, lingering feeling that he had let himself down. It ate at him when he raised his bow in Recital Preparation, along with the even more terrible realization that he _missed_ playing. Which made no sense, because he played every day, and it was only after a few more days that Chikara understood the futility of attempting to regain something he'd willingly forfeited.

He hadn't been that surprised when Hisashi barged into his room, three weeks after the audition that never occurred. "Bach, Violin Concerto in E Major."

"Good to see you too.”

"That's one of the your pieces for next year's auditions," Kazu called from the front door. "The website just announced the requirements."

Chikara blinked. "Already?"

"They know us less prodigiously talented people need time to prepare," Hisashi said.

"I-" and Chikara found himself at a loss for words. "I don't know... I'll need time to practice around studying, and get the sheet music-"

Kazu brushed past Hisashi to drop a transparent folder onto Chikara's desk, the top page of notes fresh with possibility. "Done."

"Let's think about this for a second," Chikara started. In theory he wanted another chance, but when actually presented with the possibility... It was silly, he knew, irrational to mire himself in a choice he had already made.

"Come on. We know you've been as miserable as we've been." Hisashi pointed at the audition date, scrawled and circled in black marker on the folder. "One year."

Ungrateful though they were, they would take what they could get.

 

 

Chikara's music sheets appear to be comprised more of pencil graphite than paper fibers, his fingers have earned their callouses, and three rosin-dirtied cloths sit at the bottom of his laundry bag. He's walked the fifty minutes from the dorms, and he's without a doubt _early_. He knows he's ridiculous, going to such lengths to circumvent anything resembling the previous time he stepped foot in here. He's not usually the superstitious sort, and he certainly doesn't feel any more prepared. But as Chikara's learned, waiting until the winds blow in his favor means never moving forward.

Besides, he knows the pain of running away is worse.

"Even so, I'm a masochist," he says to the room. Ukai's gone, retired after a moderately severe stroke made him reassess his priorities. He'd passed the baton on to a fourth-year conducting student, who had his own reputation for looks, resolve, and working himself into the ground.

"I'd be careful where I say that kind of thing," a voice murmurs behind him. "Oikawa-san might overhear you."

Chikara jerks wildly up in his seat, simultaneously scanning around for the culprit and possibly a lurking Oikawa. But there's only one other person in the steadily brightening room; from the instrument case and sheet music in his hands, Chikara deduces he's a fellow auditionee.

The student's lips curl, and his eyes shine with faint amusement. "Don't worry. Oikawa-san's too busy to show up other than right on time."

Chikara manages a weak laugh, trying to disguise his shock. "I thought no one was here. You almost gave me a heart attack."

"Maybe that's what I was trying to do. We're competition, after all." Then, as if he senses Chikara's racing heart, the student grows serious. "I thought it best to come early. It's particularly hot out today, and with the air conditioner going full blast in here... well, tuning my oboe is already a pain without the temperature difference."

Chikara lifts up his violin case so the oboist can see. "Same with my instrument, but I don't play the oboe. Sorry to disappoint on the competition front."

"Shame. But we can still have one, on who can make the worst possible noise. We've got two of the instruments most likely to do that. "

When the oboist steps closer to survey the violin case, Chikara gets a good look at him. Contrary to popular rumor, many music players' physical characteristics don't necessarily reflect their melodic sensitivities. But everything from the oboist's lithe frame and balanced posture, to the way his slender fingers wrap around his oboe and his sheet music, paint the quintessential image of a classical musician. He's dark haired, dark eyed, fine boned, striking in an almost hauntingly beautiful fashion that makes Chikara's chest ache.

"I'll win, though," the undeterred oboist continues, pulling up another chair at the table. "The first time my mother heard me practicing my oboe, she actually went to my piano lesson to yell at my teacher. She couldn't believe he recommended I learn, in her words, 'an abomination of an instrument'. Took her a year to finally believe the awful tone was only temporary."

The oboist's surety in his own abilities sparks a fire in Chikara. He counters, "I wouldn't declare the winner just yet. When I played my violin for the first time, my animal-loving neighbors called the police on us. They thought we were torturing a cat."

The oboist smiles again, this one rueful. "My father still says that when I make a mistake on a piece I'm sight reading. Along with, 'I thought I was paying for you not to sound absolutely terrible.'"

"You too, huh?" Chikara finds himself sympathetic. "My parents expected me to study medicine."

"Pharmaceutical science for me. I think my parents hoped my interest in music was a phase... It wasn't." The oboist opens his case to take out a film canister, and fills it halfway with water from his bottle. "You're a second year too, aren't you? I thought I recognized you from solfege classes with Nekomata on Wednesdays."

"Y-yeah. But, uh... I don't recognize you. Sorry." Chikara sheepishly shrugs, omitting that he definitely would have remembered the oboist if he had seen him.

"The hall's packed, it's hard to see anyone." The oboist opens a small black case and removes a reed. Chikara watches him gently place it in the canister, the cane wood submerged up to where the green string begins. "I only remembered you because you sat in the front row. I don't know if I saw you at last year's orchestral audition, though."

It's a question posed as a statement, with only a faintly detectable curiosity behind the words. The oboist's light tone hints at his awareness he's possibly treading on a delicate topic, while his nonchalance gives Chikara the leeway to change the subject. And as someone who tries not to make people uncomfortable if he can help it, Chikara can especially appreciate this.

It's why he says, "I didn't think I was up for it."

If the oboist has any reactions, he doesn't show them. "Yeah, it's a lot to take on in the first year," he says. "And the orchestra's a big commitment. Besides solo and group rehearsals, Oikawa-san expects the section leaders to hold instrument sectionals, too."

Chikara's heard about that. Oikawa has little patience for musicians who see themselves as soloists first and foremost; anyone who doesn't realize the purpose of playing with an orchestra is to strive for harmony with their conductor and peers, is better off playing in solo recitals. Chikara can't help but agree; groups comprised of talented individuals, all determined to stand out, earn reputations for something else altogether.

They silently warm up, matching the sun that now streams through the reinforced glass. The light's arrival seems to draw in more students, summoning auditionees in a variety of consciousness and anxiety levels. The ethereal-toned flute player has returned, and shovels an entire onigiri into her mouth as she walks in. From the sounds of her tuning alone, the tuba player appears to have switched her diaphragm out for a steel one in the past year. There are also the players Chikara's only heard about, but hasn't met - Sawamura, his section's principal chair, and Iwaizumi, the first chair viola player and Oikawa's best friend. Then there are endless others Chikara sees but doesn't know, like a small blonde horn player shaking from head to toe, accompanied by a rather angry looking violinist and an orange-haired trumpet player who immediately turns tail for the bathroom.

The room fills with conversation and snippets of melody, but falls still when the auditions are finally underway. Chikara doesn't see Hisashi and Kazu, or friends who made the orchestra last year, like percussionist Yuu and trumpeter Ryuu. He can only assume they're in the warm up room across the hall. Which is both good and bad, because while Chikara can look over his music in peace, he doesn't have much else in the way of successful distractions from his nerves.

At least he thinks he doesn't, until he catches the oboist watching him, head propped in one hand.

"I was just thinking," he says at Chikara's inquisitive glance, "how blissfully peaceful it is in here."

Chikara grins. "I don't envy anyone in the other room."

"The noise suits people like Bokuto-san and Komi-san. But people like Kozume will die a slow, painful death."

"Excellent, we should thank people like Bokuto-san and Komi-san. They're only bettering our chances."

The oboist breaks into an unexpected snort of laughter, startling Chikara, just as the musicology lecturer overseeing the students glances at his phone. Takeda-sensei clears his throat. "If Auditionee Thirty Six would please step outside, they're ready for you. Please take everything with you."

The oboist collects his things in one smooth sweep of the table. Elegant as he is, even he's not immune to the typically cluttered, heavy-handed look musicians adopt when juggling the array of items in their hands, though he waves Chikara off when he offers help.

"Well, this is it," the oboist says, nudging his chair in. Besides his grip on his materials being perhaps a little tighter than necessary, his face is arranged to appear devoid of expression. "Let's do our best."

"Good luck," Chikara says. He watches the oboist turn, speaks before he can change his mind and misses another opportunity. "I'm Ennoshita, by the way."

"Akaashi," answers the oboist over his shoulder, smiling a final time, brief but genuine. And when he finally steps over the threshold, "Good luck to you too, Ennoshita."

 

* * *

 

 

_"So, Ennoshita. What are you studying?"_

_"Music Performance in Violin, and Music Theory."_

_"Hm, a double major? What led you to that choice?"_

_"Well, I started learning violin when I was a child. And I like understanding the finer details and nuances of a piece."_

_Irihata-sensei speaks as casually as if they're discussing the pleasant weather, not sitting around a circular table discussing Chikara's fate in one of Japan's most esteemed orchestras._

_"How do you like your classes? Enjoying them? Are they challenging?"_

_"They're all right. A lot of work, though. I'm doing my best to keep up."_

_Oikawa shifts restlessly in his seat. He's been silent up to now, his eyes flicking back and forth between Irihata and Chikara, his mouth turned downward in distaste._

_"He's impatient to get the small talk over with," Irihata explains. "I was trying to help him relax, Oikawa. You're making them all tense."_

_"They're taking excused absences from class to audition. The least we can do is hurry the process along, Irihata-sensei." Oikawa taps Chikara's application, right on the check box marked "second year." "This is what I'm interested in. I remember your name - you were one of the no-shows at last year's audition."_

_Chikara gulps. He anticipated this topic might come up, but not veered into with this much sharpness. "_ _I... Well, I left early."_

_Oikawa tilts his head, his hawk-eyed gaze honed to catch Chikara's every expression. "Is it wise to tell me that, hm? You're not helping yourself this time around."_

_When swallowing hard once more, Chikara's chin involuntarily lifts."On the contrary. It was leaving that helped me understand what I wanted."_

_"Which was?"_

" _To pursue music with everything I have."_

_"If that's the case..." The conductor drums his fingers on the table, and twirls a ballpoint pen in his other hand. The actions would be idle on anyone else, but Oikawa's quick movements spell danger. "What do you want to gain, should you be accepted into this humble little orchestra?"_

_"I want to become better, to a point where I'm even a little satisfied with myself."_

_The pen stops moving in Oikawa's hand with a snap._

_"How about now? You don't think you're good enough? What brings you back, then?" Oikawa bears into Chikara, slices him open. Oikawa's perceptiveness helps with pinpointing the orchestra's strengths, but Chikara's on the receiving end of what happens when Oikawa applies the blade to protect what's his. "Now's not the place for humility, or answers you think I want to hear. Tell me honestly."_

_Chikara's fists clench on the desk. He's been nothing but honest, if he can say so himself. It's all he has, now. "No, it’s not humility at all. I'm merely deeply unsatisfied with where I am. I want to go further than I've ever been, is what I mean."_

_In the long ensuing silence, Oikawa surveys Chikara. He's searching for the slightest stutter, a break in resolve, and Chikara congratulates himself for looking straight back._

_No one has to know about his knees knocking together under the table._

_Oikawa holds Chikara's gaze for one more moment. Then, to Chikara's surprise, the conductor throws his head back in a laugh. He settles back in his chair for the first time, one hand curled thoughtfully under his chin. "Is that so? Iiiiinteresting. But no need to be_ that _serious, okay? We're just making small talk and getting to know each other!"_

_Chikara promises then and there that if he's accepted to this orchestra, he's giving the conductor's podium a wide berth._

_"I've heard everything I need to know," Oikawa says, still grinning. "You're free to go, Enno-chan. Let's be good friends!"_

 

 

 _( "You almost got me with that quick switch, Oikawa," Irihata says, when Chikara's stumbled out._ " _Even I thought you were going to rip him a new one."_

_Oikawa yawns, and links his arms above his head in a stretch. "There's no harm injecting some excitement. Keeps them on their toes, you know," he hums. "Besides, I get bored playing the oh-so-dignified senpai!"_

_"Well, give_ me _a heads up, at least. You've really got a terrible personality."_

_Tongue poking out the side of his mouth, Oikawa places pen to paper as he scribbles away. "He could take it. Whatever he was like last year, Enno-chan's changed." )_

 

* * *

 

 

Nisshou's practice room building is built to resemble a foliage of pine needles, in which each cluster of leaves is connected to a bud.

The bud in turn originates from a branch like divide of another leaf, and in this fashion they all eventually return to the pine's trunk. The con of thisvein-like design that has many dead ends, which confuses visitors and bemused new students trying to find their classes. The pros are that the rooms never fully overlap on top of one another, resulting in completely soundproof rooms with each presenting a distinct angle of the greenery, and a symmetrical system that presents itself over time and familiarity.

The first floor building, on the other hand, appears completely unsuspecting, belying its upper level mazes with long, transparent glass walls that are perfect for posting announcements and notices. It's here where students congregate, rushing up the concrete path lined with Japanese anemone flowers, to wait at 8 a.m. on an April, forming a crowd fresh with renewed nerves.

"They could have just posted the list online," drawls a tall student Chikara remembers as a double bass player. He appears completely immune to the anticipatory mood, managing to look utterly bored in a sea of excitement. "This is much too troublesome."

"It builds suspense, Tsukki!" his freckled friend pipes up. "They _are_ posting the results, just later today. You didn't have to come along!"

The tall student merely huffs. Chikara, too busy watching the exchange, almost collides into someone. He's about to apologize, but Yuu beams brightly back at him, completely unfazed.

"Oh, hey, Chikara!" The percussionist finishes his blue popsicle in one bite. How he's always eating them, at any hour and in any season, is one of the many mysteries about him that Chikara has learned to accept. "Ready?"

Chikara had slept his full eight hours, but didn't feel at all well rested. The knowledge of what was coming tomorrow kept his body on high alert. Typically a slow riser, he was up immediately at his first alarm's ring, though he had set three.

He thought of progress, of going further, over a silent breakfast with Kazu and Hisashi. This is, technically, already a greater distance than he's ever been. But as Chikara took the final bite of his tuna onigiri, and waits now as one face in a milling crowd, he knows he wants _more_.

"Ready," he says to Yuu, and promptly breaks into a coughing fit when Ryuu thumps him on the back as way of greeting.

The same orange-haired trumpeter Chikara saw at the auditions elbows his way past the double bass player. "Move, Tsukishima! Me and Yachi can't see!"

"Of course, my apologies. Didn't see you there." Tsukishima appears genuinely contrite until he adds, "You were below my line of sight."

The trumpeter makes an indignant squawk. But he doesn't do much else besides follow the blonde horn player to the front, and settles for sticking his tongue out at Tsukishima instead. _First years_ , Chikara thinks, amused. Either too serious about their newly minted status as university students, or prone to bouts of the immaturity they could get away with in high school. That's when he remembers he was the same, not so long ago.

A great exclamation echoes in the crowd. Several nondescript pieces of white paper appear in the blue green glass. But they are the golden tickets, and people press forward to read the names.

Yuu, being small as well as efficient, has wormed his way close enough to see the list.

He's also loud enough for Chikara to hear his delighted yell.

"We all made it! You, me, Ryuu, Hisashi, Kazu - WE MADE IT!"

Yuu's drowned out shortly afterward by cries of disappointment and jubilation alike. Chikara's pulled into a rough hug by the other second years. Locked in a circle, he can see Hisashi and Kazu are sniffling; Ryuu's openly letting the tears stream down his face as he tugs them closer. "Hell yeeeeeeeeeah!" he's yelling, and his enthusiasm's infectious. Chikara doesn't realize his own ecstasy, until the throbbing in his jaw draws attention to the fact he's grinning like an absolute idiot.

"AKAASHI! YOU TOO!"

At the sound of the familiar name, Chikara leans in the direction of the voice that's possibly even louder than Yuu's. Sure enough, Akaashi's on the receiving end of an enthusiastic head ruffle from a spiky-haired student who can only be either Bokuto or Komi.

Akaashi somehow manages to extract himself from the student's vice grip. But when he stands upright, slightly red faced and distinctly ruffled, he wears as wide a smile as Ryuu. It's so unlike the subtle expressions Chikara's only ever seen him wear, but it's also fitting, like Akaashi's inner passions are coming to light.

_I think my parents hoped my interest in music was a phase... It wasn't._

"You seem almost relieved, Bokuto-san," Akaashi says.

"Of course I'm not! Of course I wasn't!" Bokuto betrays his own words by wringing Akaashi's hands. "Of course I won't be!"

"Which is it?" Akaashi asks. But Bokuto doesn't have time to answer anyway, because a student who can only be Komi arrives along with a group from the Fukurodani dorms. They descend upon Akaashi, triggering another round of hair ruffling and excited yelling, and Chikara turns back to the other second years with a grin.

It's when the large group begins to break up, that someone falls into step alongside Chikara.

"Congratulations," Akaashi says.

"You too," Chikara responds, not mentioning Akaashi's severe bedhead, that his messy curls make Chikara want to run his own hands through them, or that neither of their smiles have faded yet.

They're silent, awkward even, with an obligatory formality. Then they're off, both talking all at once, interrupting and overlapping one another in their relief.

"I thought I was a goner when Oikawa-san made a face," Akaashi says. "I didn't adjust enough for my F, it goes sharp-"

"He did that during my audition, too. I accidentally played with the frog, when I was supposed to start with the point. That threw off the rest of the phrase-"

"I'm sure that was partly from sympathy. He studied violin, along with piano."

"What did you audition with?"

"Bach's Sonata in C Major. Not my preferred piece, but Manabu-sensei told me I could make a statue cry and I took the pragmatic route."

"I'd really like to hear you play. Man, I thought Oikawa was going to throw me out." Just the thought of the interview makes Chikara slump. "But he actually laughed and even said he wanted to be friends."

Akaashi shoots Chikara a strange look, his eyebrows furrowed. "Why wouldn't he?"

"Because I'm _such_ interesting company?"

But Akaashi’s not in the mood for jokes. "Why would he throw you out? You saw the list, right?"

"I figured I'd look it up online. I just needed to know I made it. I know I'm set for second violin."

Akaashi's look grows odder. It's a suspicious squint, tinted with disbelief. "You need to see it," he says, abruptly tugging on Chikara's sleeve to march him back to the great glass panels.

"Uh, I'll catch up with you later," Chikara calls to the other second years. They watch him go with curious interest, and he shrugs back at them.

First on the list, are the woodwinds:

 

**Oboe**

**1\. Akaashi Keiji***

**2\. Ikejiri Hayato**

**3\. Kuribayashi Runa**

 

"Principal chair and section leader," Chikara says. "Seriously, congrats."

"Thank you," Akaashi says, with a tinge of impatience. "Keep looking."

 

**STRINGS**

**Violin (1st)**

**1\. Sawamura Daichi**

**2\. Aihara Mao**

**3\. Kageyama Tobio**

**\--**

**Sugawara Koushi***

**Kai Nobuyuki**

**Hanamaki Takahiro**

**Kunimi Akira**

 

**Violin (2nd)**

**1\. Ennoshita Chikara**

**2\. Sarukui Yamato***

**\--**

**Kawatabi Shunki**

**Kindaichi Yuutarou**

**Sakunami Kousuke**

**Yamaguchi Tadashi**

**Shibayama Yuuki**

 

"M-me? Principal chair?" Chikara splutters, staring at the list. "Surely there's been some-"

"Not a mistake," Akaashi says. "There's more."

Chikara stares at the paper with his name inked in, like he expects it to grow three legs and dance a jig. He doesn't understand. "More than second violin?"

" _Look_." Impatience clear now, Akaashi nudges close enough to bump Chikara's shoulder. He points at the end of the page, at the last group of names Chikara hadn't even bothered to check.

 

**PRESIDING**

**CONDUCTOR**

**Principal Conductor: Oikawa Tooru**

**Conductor: Yahaba Shigeru**

**CONCERTMASTER**

**Principal Concertmaster: Sawamura Daichi**

**Principal Concertmaster: Aihara Mao**

**Concertmaster: Ennoshita Chikara**

 

"Okay, there's definitely been a mistake," Chikara says. "Because that's _my_ name right, Ennoshita Chikara, next to 'Concertmaster'-"

"Not a mistake," Akaashi repeats.

"Akaashi, do me a favor and... and make sure I'm on planet Earth and not in some fevered dream-"

"I'm not pinching you," Akaashi says, in the tired manner of someone who's been asked to do so before many times, and regretted all of them.

"I just wanted to make it, no matter what chair I got. That's it. I didn't- I don't-" The names are inked in, right in front of Chikara's eyes. And he still can't believe it. "I didn't even try. I ran away. How am I supposed to even stand at the front of an orchestra?"

He's still too stupefied to notice Akaashi watching him. "What's most important is, you came back," he says.

 

* * *

 

 

Chikara's experience in Nisshou Music University's esteemed Shirobane Orchestra is everything and nothing like how he envisioned.

It's much like his first impression of Oikawa Tooru. The man himself, a violinist and pianist who specialized in playing Liszt, is both serious and frivolous, intimidating and silly. He's direct when he likes to be, which means not needing to give instructions twice, but playfully inserts double entendres and hidden meanings into his banter with the other fourth years. Sometimes that results in Oikawa receiving a smack upside the head, and he's quite unlike any conductor Chikara's ever had.

The difference is immediately noticeable beginning with the players selected. Oikawa employs a rotational seating system, meaning besides the Principal Chairs of each large section, they are often rearranged so they can play different parts. He does indeed believe in instrument sectionals, as Akaashi mentioned, with the section leaders holding practices outside of group rehearsals. But the section leaders lead sectionals, and the principal chairs lead their sections in playing solos, and Oikawa does not consider the two roles synonymous. The section leaders are different from the principal chairs, because as he points out, one who plays an instrument cannot necessarily help others with that instrument, and vice versa.

And everyone has all too quickly learned that neither _talent_ nor _privilege_ are words Oikawa Tooru takes well to. "Hmph!" he says, nose in air at the very mention of them. "Lack of natural ability - that can't be helped. And if I went to the fancy Berlin academy Ushiwaka-chan's at, would I reach my fullest potential? Knowing I was second fiddle to his musical interpretations and serving him?"

Chikara's only voiced his insecurities on his appointments to Oikawa, once. It was when Oikawa had just overhauled all of Chikara's bowing notes for a Sibelius piece, right after a frustrating sectional with a violinist who refused to put in more than half of his potential effort. It was the nerves, Chikara supposes. The emotions that well from deep down in places he thought had cooled, the feelings of inferiority from walking away and a loss of a year's worth of experiences.

"And I'd like a denser feeling after this coda. Down bows all the way. Oh, and remind the first clarinet - Moniwa - he can play louder there. Thank you," Oikawa says, flipping the score shut.

"Then why am I even here?" Chikara snaps. He's usually passive aggressive about things that build up, like during one-sided arguments with his parents when he can only bite the words back. He doesn't mean for them to flood into a torrent, especially to a senpai, _especially_ to Oikawa Tooru. "Concertmasters are always first violins, right? If it's somehow slipped your mind, _I'm_ _not a first violin_. I never have been. So-"

Oikawa's mouth turns down, and he lifts a hand to dismiss Chikara's objections. "You’re used to the standard ways, Enno-chan."

"But-"

"Good technical accuracy," Oikawa says, airily. "Great tone. Decent scale playing. Decent sensitivity to tempo and dynamics. Decent sight reading." He pauses. "Hungry to improve. Listens to people. Understands failure. What it's like to not feel good enough, but not hiding behind that. Those are the reasons you're Concertmaster. "

"Plenty of musicians have failed. You could even say failure's a part of the business. I'm not special." Chikara doesn't understand. He feels like he's missed something. What’s even more frustrating is that Oikawa isn't being his shadowed self, when his outer personality turns how he sees fit.

"You'd be right," Oikawa says, annoyingly calm. "And I still chose you, for whatever reason. Call it an artistic sense. Besides," and his voice dips low with a weight, "it doesn't matter. The strings will be watching you. And you'll be watching _me_." His eyes glint again, like a snake's. "So believe in the me that believes in you. Because you certainly don't believe in yourself enough, Enno-chan, and you'd better start learning. What happened to going further?"

Chikara knows Oikawa won't let him forget those words for as long as he lives.

"I heard you had some trouble with Kunimi-chan. That's what I mean about listening to others. Figure out first what they want, what they're good at, help them get there. _Then_ consider how they can help you. Put yourself last, because leading an orchestra means exactly that. And with the right influence along the way, they'll play closer to what _you_ want."

At Chikara's silence, Oikawa plucks the score off his stand and hands it back to him with a flourish and a beam. "Go further, believe in the me that believes in you - and redo all of the bowing. Got it?"

Chikara takes the score and grumbles all the way back to his seat. It's only years later, when Chikara's a fourth year himself, does he realize Oikawa probably used the same mantra to get himself through similar situations.

Oikawa demands a lot, but his demands are made with the air of a man who knows the team he's assembled will rise alongside him to the height he sees from a distance. And the belief - the belief, the perhaps calculated but nonetheless entire belief in Chikara's abilities - is the tinder that sets Chikara's resolve aflame.

 

\-----------

 

The other component of Chikara's job, is with the orchestra itself. The principal concertmasters work well together, but are different as can be.

Fourth year Sawamura Daichi is the underwhelming one upon first impression, all smiles and firm handshakes. He doesn't give off much charisma when he's not on the podium, but when he steps up the entire orchestra falls silent, as his presence is almost overwhelming. It's second only to Oikawa's in the entire orchestra. It's also immediately clear why the students fall silent; when the trumpets don't stop talking when they've already been warned, Sawamura's darkening smile speaks for his displeasure.

As a violinist, he helps the sections with tone and dynamics, because he evokes the fullest, most consistent sound anyone's ever heard. But just as importantly, he maintains peace within the orchestra, ensuring open communication between the musicians themselves and with the conductors. Even Oikawa respects him immensely, and while they joke around he doesn't prod at Sawamura the way he does for the others.

Third year Aihara Mao is the brasher principal concertmaster, as caring as Sawamura but with a sense of humor that bites. Her specialties are accuracy and speed, and so the violin sections practice their runs, glissandos, and portamentos with her. The first time Chikara watched her play, he stared until she asked with a smile, "What? Never saw anyone play violin before?"

While Sawamura's schedule results in his practicing enough to achieve competence in a variety of styles, Aihara's busy timetable is partly responsible for what makes her ruthlessly efficient. Thus, she is also in charge of logistics and seating for concerts, and when Chikara tells her she's amazing, she responds with, "Quit the starry eyed look. You're doing this next year."

The one concert where Sawamura is unexpectedly absent is, ironically, where Chikara first feels a closeness with his senpai.

He can feel the history in this concert hall, alive with electricity, like a great creature with innards of plush navy, with a roof and panels that adjust to the music as the players do.

When Aihara sends Chikara on stage to tune, he's trembling so much he knocks over a music stand and begins an avalanche that ends with Akaashi's reed container falling over and splashing all over the floor. She pulls Chikara aside, backstage in the cover of the black stage curtains and he thinks he's in for a tongue lashing.

Direct as Aihara usually is, she isn't angry. "Oikawa told us about why he picked you," she says. "I remember your name too. You weren't the only one who didn't show up. But not that many of them decide they want to come back. So liste- Terushima! Don't forget your trombone mute!" When Terushima's bounced back and away, Aihara rests her hands on the table where his mute had been. "Listen, Ennoshita. My high school orchestra was bad. Really bad. Bad as in nowhere near good enough for this school. I was discouraged and quit. But somewhere along the way, my friends Misaki, on double bass, Sasaki, on cello, and Iwaizumi on viola - you probably know them. They wanted to make an online string quartet and needed a violin player. I thought they were nuts, but I didn't want to be left behind. At the same time, I was scared of letting them down. I practiced, and found ways to improve myself, motivated beyond just playing for fun or a grade, and here we are."

She claps him on the back. "I get your jitters. I do. But Ennoshita, if you don't slowly let the reserved part of you go, you either get lost in the music, or get lost."

Chikara nods. It's not so much new experiences his needs, but the reassurance he's doing fine. He's in reserve for now, and they'll bring him out to do more things once he's used to his duties.

Chikara uses Sawamura's bowing markings, borrows his score for Beethoven’s Symphony No. 5. The markings are familiar visually but foreign because he didn't make them, and he feels like an imposter. He was only supposed to sit and observe, but he only has time to read it over three times to catch a glimpse of the cues. Then he can't remember the exact notes, because as second violin he's usually playing the harmony.

As concertmasters, they position themselves throughout the violins to make themselves visible. Chikara is afraid, and nervous. But he settles himself in between violinists Kai and Hanamaki, thinks of _figuring out what they're good at_. He plays the whole symphony, breathing in, and they finish.

He receives a text.

Sawamura: hey i was watching on the tv outside the hall

Sawamura: good job

Aihara seizes the phone ("Yes, he did well. _You're contagious, Sawamura, leave_!"), and Chikara feels an elation, the glow of success. Now he has something memorable, almost tangible, of confidence to carry with him.

 

\-----------

 

Then, as a miraculous afterthought in the sudden madness that is the strings section and Concertmaster duties: there is Akaashi Keiji, the brief eye in a storm.

Withholding as the both of them can be, their dams broke in their finding each other after the orchestra results were announced, flushed with delight. He fits into Chikara's life far more easily than Chikara expected. Chikara hasn't felt particularly interesting or engaging. But then again, he's never pretended to be anything he's not, and Akaashi seems to like whatever he presents.

Akaashi takes Chikara under his wing from the get-go. The orchestra is allotted one of the bigger rehearsal rooms, and he explains where everything is stored. He shows Chikara where in the staff office the keys are kept, and the staff recognize him because Akaashi comes early to practice and they've taken to leaving the key in a certain spot for him.

They slip seamlessly between tapestries that run intertwined; at some point Akaashi will encounter the threads in Chikara's life that are his other second year friends. Hisashi and Kazu aren't a problem, and Chikara worries about quiet Akaashi meeting boisterous Noya and Tanaka. But he thinks of Bokuto and Komi, and then thinks nothing more of the matter.

They have more classes together than Chikara realized they did, Solfege in addition to a non-music, mandatory class. Nisshou is unique in that while it is a school specializing in music, does require a small requirement of non-music classes. Physics is a notorious course, taught by Oiwake-sensei, that many music students fail because they don't apply themselves or resign themselves to their fates. But while it's not the easiest class to pass, the time outside of it passes pleasantly enough, with Akaashi frequently spending evenings curled on the living room floor, doing homework with Chikara and his roommates.

Aihara flat out refuses to participate in any social events Oikawa can't charm his way out of, leaving Sawamura and Chikara to attend the fundraisers and ensemble committee dinners. Chikara, groaning at his own sense of propriety, can't let his senior take the fall for the less important jobs, and heads off for events when he'd rather be watching a movie. It seems natural, with Hisashi and Kazu puzzling over Physics and Yuu and Ryuu a bit too enthusiastic for formal occasions, to ask Akaashi along for company. They laugh about what their friends would do here in their stead.

("Bokuto-san would be making an emotional toast right about now, to his dog's long life."

"Yuu would try to take the flute off that champagne tower. Maybe even from the middle."

"Konoha-san wouldn't stop either of them. He'd sit back to see what happens."

"What are we even doing with our lives, Akaashi? Sitting around, gossiping about our classmates."

Akaashi gives Chikara a look that would send the open ocean into an instant drought. Somehow, it only makes him more handsome than ever in his suit. "Not living them to the fullest.")

They progress from doing mandatory music-related things together, to the smaller things. Music is entwined with their lives, such an integral piece. Somehow they end up at the campus's music shop together when Chikara needs his violin's pegs tightened or Akaashi has to replace one of the missing tiny screws that pepper the oboe's structure and require every single one to play properly.

Then, there are the non-music interests. Akaashi's room is spotless but he doesn't mind Chikara's snacks, and Chikara doesn't mind that Akaashi's dorm suite is always bursting with some sort of activity. He might knock on the door, to the smell of cookies and Bokuto's friend Sarukui inviting him in, his ever-present smile giving no sign as to what's happening inside. Over chats they realize they share common hobbies like film, with Chikara's high school hobby of directing films and Akaashi's for filming them. But neither have the time to actually create a film, let alone watch one. Mostly, they settle instead for watching movies together during the weekends. Chikara brought his large computer screen to hook up to his laptop, and they prop the assemblage on his desk while they sit on the bed. On the days Hisashi has an early shift at the bakery and needs to sleep early, they plug Chikara's earbuds in and share. Chikara's really aware of the darkness then, the mere centimeters separating he and Akaashi.

They both like movies of the drama genre, even if they argue extensively about which ones they prefer. Akaashi also appreciates documentaries and period films for the elaborate set ups and difficult scenes to capture, while Chikara likes slice-of-life documentaries for the nuances they capture, and magic realism.

But Chikara likes watching the comedies most, because that's when Akaashi laughs the most. And though Akaashi tries to hide it from others with his serious demeanor, his snort, the opposite from his appearance, becomes more apparent with each film. Until one day, a dumb viral Internet video has a person throw their bowling ball into the alley ceiling, and Akaashi laughs so hard his snort comes to light without any means to hide it. He's bent over, so overcome that he leans his head on Chikara's shoulder for support.

The Fukurodani and Karasuno dorms are both full of noise and busyness, and the walls are thin. Akaashi and Chikara seek refuge in the Nekoma dorms, where Akaashi's friend and orchestra bassoonist Kozume lives. But Kozume's fidgeting after an hour or two indicates he wants time to himself. Akaashi and Chikara go to the library instead, which requires more of a walk but only allows talking at normal volume.

The library is a series of interconnected buildings with a dome-shaped, lush conservatory at its heart. The glass, made of similar blue-green as the practice room building, lessens the harsh glare of the sunlight that is so prone to visit the campus, and the absorbed sunlight is transferred to the solar panels on the opaque buildings. Couches and chairs in various designs and pops of color are scattered about, with overhangs of green. Students can lounge about under the plants that both shade and maintain their privacy. The conservatory leads in different directions with great staircases, to areas of the library proper, where students browse long oak shelves lined with music-related texts.

But it's always the music itself, in its unsaturated, rawest form, that binds them together, the warmth. Akaashi and Chikara's playing styles are similar, with their penchant for details and very little motion at first. Fortunately classical music is full of hour long concertos, that patiently unwind the players, persistently spooling out their ability, drinking every drop of what they'll give dry. With time, they shine. Yuu and Ryuu are behind Chikara, and Hisashi and Kazu on the other end of the stage, but in the crescendos and decrescendos, Chikara only has to look across the piccolo and flutes to meet Akaashi's eyes.

Oikawa notices, after a while; with his bird's eye view of the entire orchestra and his observational skills, it's unavoidable. He doesn't say anything, but his lingering smirk when he catches Chikara staring says more than enough.

 

* * *

 

 

The orchestra is challenging. The senpai give Chikara plenty of advice, but there's only so much talking they can do. He shadows Aihara and Sawamura, talks to Oikawa, leads sectionals - until it all _clicks_.

Chikara's job as Concertmaster involves sitting on meetings with the Principal Concertmasters. Aihara and Sawamura, who have played under Oikawa since their first years, have a good idea of what elements he prefers. "He emphasizes the proper dynamics," Aihara mentions. "But most importantly, on _sustained_ dynamics." Because they have different specializations, they tend to bicker. But Aihara generally concedes to Sawamura, who, in addition to being older, understands what she says through the barbs and has more experience working under Oikawa.

It's the difference a year can make. But Chikara takes that in stride.

The relationship between concertmaster and conductor is complex and contradictory. While the concertmaster is responsible for bowing and articulations and communicating the conductor's wishes to the other string players in a concise manner, as well as leading them during the performance, their interpretation is entirely dependent on how much flexibility the conductor grants them. In Oikawa's case, he likes to hold discussions upon first deciding on a piece, a week before the performance to confirm all of the elements. "If you want something, tell me," he says.

"It would be good with more fluidity here." Oikawa gestures at a bar on the third page. "Our strings need a bit more practice keeping their staccatos in unison, and that takes more experience playing with the group. After that remind the rest of the trumpets to pay attention to that diminuendo and hush during Kenji-chan's solo. He's got his hands full with such a noisy group of players."

Chikara understands Oikawa's preferences aren't so much for himself, but for the sake of the orchestra. He plays a role now, that, he's come to learn, is being a subordinate to the conductor's interpretations. It makes his ears grow hot now, the thought of yelling at Oikawa.

But Oikawa has only become cheerier after that. He slowly passes duties along to Chikara, even giving him the reins to dictate the bowing for the orchestra's performance for the school showcase. In that case, Chikara meets with Sawamura and Aihara, and then with the strings' section leaders and principal chairs.

"So, measure forty six will be pizzicato, with an emphasis on the downbeat. Light strokes with the top of the bow, leading into a sforzando."

"You sure about that?" the principal cellist asks. His ever sly grin makes it's hard to tell if he's teasing or being difficult, and Chikara hesitates. "Uh-"

"Don't mess with the Concertmaster, Kuroo," Yaku, the double bass player, says. To Chikara, "Ignore him."

"It makes perfect sense, Ennoshita-san," Sugawara, the first violins' section leader, says reasonably. "We'll do it."

Violist Iwaizumi has another concern. He glares at Oikawa. "Why are _you_ still here? Isn't there an alumni benefit tonight that you have to attend?"

In an unintended imitation of Chikara, Oikawa blinks. "Uh-"

Iwaizumi huffs, turning away from Oikawa to address Chikara. "Next time, if you don't want to do something, say so. But if Oikawa doesn't attend the next function himself, Matsukawa and I aren't leaving dinner for him anymore."

Oikawa gasps. "Cruel, Iwa-chan!"

There's a humanistic aspect to the role of Concertmaster as well, that ties in to Chikara's role as the section leader for the secondary violins. He must understand the music well if he's Concertmaster, and even further as section leader. His section of players are generally acquiescent to his requests, and don't need to be told twice. His job is made easier by fourth year Kawatabi, who is quick to remind the section when they've made an error that Chikara's already pointed out.

Kunimi, the first year who Chikara had problems with, carries himself with an expression that hints he is bemused to have made it as a first violin, let alone making the orchestra at all. He plays slightly more animatedly when with fellow violinist Kindaichi, but otherwise maintains his quiet, unadorned playing style that doesn't change much in volume or expression, becoming even more standard and sullen when Chikara pushes him. So Chikara takes a breath, thinks about adaptations and not forcing anything. He tells the orchestra to follow Kunimi's example of volume for piano and pianissimo, and asks Kunimi to play lightly except near the end of the symphony, where they rise to a fortissimo. Their relationship improves to the point Kunimi will tilt his head ever so slightly to Chikara when they encounter each other in the dorm or campus hallways.

Comparatively, Oikawa is not as intimidating as Ukai was. But Oikawa asks for just as much. They are expected to come to rehearsals prepared, already playing with the quality of the actual recital in mind. Some players do not take the added stress well, at first - especially the first years, who expected to breeze through their lectures like their counterparts in other universities. At a rehearsal where the second violinists are moved to the front, one of them barely squeaks a note out, from forgetting to apply rosin to his strings. Too embarrassed to say so in the middle of practice, he merely mimics playing and is singled out by Oikawa when practice ends. Chikara takes the violinist aside. "Yamaguchi, is everything all right? You usually come more prepared than this."

"I'm..." He's so soft, but Yamaguchi seems aware that Chikara can barely hear him and speaks up. "I’m sorry, Ennoshita-san. I’ve been doing my best to keep everything together, but today was just too much.” His voice remains clear, but he looks instead at his violin, nervously plucking the strings. “I'm thinking of quitting. I practiced hard to get in. Everyone did. But, well... I'm stretching myself to keep up. I sleep late, wake up early, and all my waking time is spent in class or practicing. Or at my part-time job, which I can't quit because I need the money to pay the tuition.”

He fingers his bow, holds it close to his chest. “I know it sounds ridiculous. But the orchestra is a lot of work, and I’m the one who can’t keep up. It's such an honor, though.... you'd probably say I should stay, right? Because I should keep my future in mind?"

Being in an esteemed orchestra like this, doesn't give any guarantees. They shine for now, because Oikawa brings that out in them. They can regress later in future orchestras, or shine still brighter. And Chikara would be lying if he says he isn't tired, that he isn't collapsing into bed late at night and snatching sleep whenever he can in the day.

"Not necessarily," he says, choosing his words carefully. "It's based on the individual. Music particularly.... it's not exactly a lucrative job. Often you start from nothing, and feel like you're not progressing for a long time. Often positions emphasize job security and there are a lot of competition for new positions. So... you have to want this. And only you know how much you want it. Not everyone has talent, but skill and determination... those can be learned. Passion, too." Chikara pauses then adds, thinking of Akaashi, "It's a big commitment."

Yamaguchi's reaction is merely a nod and a measured, "Thank you, Ennoshita-san." Which might look disrespectful and brief on anyone else, but Chikara's seen Yamaguchi's diligence during orchestral practices and outside of them. The reason Yamaguchi constantly lacks rosin on his strings, is because he plays until it completely rubs off. He practices more than anyone else.

Later, Chikara's too tired to walk back to his own dorm and ends up at Akaashi's. He's restringing the D string on his violin, sitting on the floor, while Akaashi's making oboe reeds using the back of his chair to wind string around the reed cane. They work in comfortable silence.

How they've progressed to this easiness, this breaking down of their musical fronts, a vulnerability in how they acknowledge the fragility of their instruments, their livelihoods, Chikara doesn't quite know.

 

* * *

 

 

The student showcase, it turns out, also wants performances featuring soloists, in addition to an orchestral performance.

No one wants to put in the extra practice on top of their current workloads.

"I trust our Principal Concertmasters will put on a fine show," Oikawa says at last, smiling. It sounds like a selfish move on his part, but he'll be up late poring over scores and watching previous recordings. He senses Chikara's questioning glance. "You don't have to, Enno-chan, but it's a good experience. Performing by yourself is tiring, and I'd like to show off as many of our star players as possible. I'd suggest..." Oikawa's eyes take on the gleam when he's either gotten a good idea, or up to something. Or both. "... Asking someone to play with you. Like a duet concerto. A concerto with a violin and a non-string instrument. A brass instrument would be nice... a Mozart concerto?" His smirk grows. "Or perhaps you fancy a woodwind? Ah, the possibilities!"

"Let me decide that," Chikara says, cutting Oikawa off.

Chikara pours over pieces for the next week. It's when he and Akaashi are in Oikawa's office, with Chikara filing away some paperwork for the showcase, that Chikara brings the subject up again. "Oikawa wants an answer by Monday."

Akaashi looks up from the book he's reading with mild interest, one on counterpoint for theory class. "What did you choose?"

"Strauss's Oboe Concerto." One oboe, one violin, and strings. The strings section might resent him for the extra work, but Chikara hopes a day off rehearsal will brighten their spirits.

Akaashi's interest isn't only mild now.

They enter Practice Room 6, a space of wood panels, metal, and sunlight. The view is of the forest, endless green as far as one can see.

This is the first time Chikara has properly listened to Akaashi play. In the orchestra, Chikara's too busy paying attention to the orchestra at large - there's simply too much to look out for. Being a soloist intimidates Chikara, but it also means he can sit back as a soloist, doesn't have to think about the string orchestra for the hour they're here, and just listen to Akaashi.

It's beautiful.

The headiness of the violin, combined with the pierce of the oboe, create an earthy sound with a hint of grit. It's lacking the fullness of an orchestra, but it maintains its integrity.

They take a stand each. Akaashi places his stand next to Chikara's, but hesitates.

Chikara doesn't want to push him, and he knows if something's important enough to Akaashi, he'll speak his mind. Sure enough, "Ennoshita, can we play facing each other? I want to synchronize your bow movements with my playing."

Chikara almost chokes at the idea of Akaashi watching him as they play, but his request seems innocuous. "All right."

They play, watching each other. As Akaashi moves with his oboe, Ennoshita mirrors him as best he can. It's distracting. Chikara's distracted by the oboe. Not so much the oboe as Akaashi playing the oboe, making sweet sounds, his mouth firm as his hands rove about his instrument, his body moving in time with the tempo.

Over time, they practice more together. They still watch movies on the weekends in the dark, and continue to argue about them. They escape to the library when their dorms are noisy. More and more often, Chikara looks up from his playing, to find Akaashi watching him. It's natural that people watch the Concertmaster to follow cues, but Akaashi's steady, affirming gaze makes something leap in Chikara's gut.

Somewhere along the way, in their comfort, a tension rises. Akaashi knocks his water-filled reed container over one day. He catches it in time, but not before Chikara's also reached for it. Chikara jerks away, while Akaashi quickly opens his oboe case and disappears behind it.

One day they practice. It's intense and beautiful, watching each other. They've memorized their parts by now, and they can make entrances together even without the metronome's steady ticking. When they finish, there's a ringing silence. Akaashi's looking anywhere but Chikara, scratching his cheek and busying himself making marks on his music.

"I think that was the best version yet," Chikara ventures. He realizes he's shaking, and lowers his bow to his side.

"Yes," Akaashi murmurs. "But there was a mistake."

"Mistake? My mistake? Where?"

Akaashi places his reed in its soaking container and makes his way over to Chikara. Careful not to hit his oboe against Chikara's stand, Akaashi lowers his head to read the first violin part upside down. "An E natural, instead of an E sharp, on the slur before the fermata."

"Huh," Chikara says, trying to recount a specific moment when all he remembered of their playing was the exhilaration, and dark eyes swallowing him whole. "I probably did." He bends forward to note the error, but when he looks up, Akaashi hasn't moved as far back as Chikara thought.

"I..." Akaashi's hesitating again. His free hand grips the top of the stand. When he speaks, it's a whisper, the voice of a man in territory he's afraid to be in. "I also... made a mistake."

"Where?" Chikara asks, and it's not so much a question as a breath.

"It's not a measure on a music score. Or a location. Though technically, you could say it was Warm Up Room #6, on the third of April at 7:16 a.m." With an effort, Akaashi looks away from his hand and down at Chikara. Akaashi's mouth is trembling, and so is the rest of him. "That should have been the end of it. But it wasn't, and... I don't know. How I feel. It's not from the elation of playing a piece. I don't-"

Chikara waits, no breath to exhale because it's stored all inside him, like he'll shatter this moment if he moves. He doesn't know what to think. He doesn't _dare_ to think.

Akaashi's hand tightens around the stand. "I don't know where," he whispers, scrabbling for purchase at a point he vaguely recognizes to backtrack on the map. "I just started thinking. It began as curiosity, why you came so early to the audition and why you were a Concertmaster. Then it was because we became friends, and I needed to remember your arguments on film so I could prove you wrong. But then... I found myself thinking about the strangest things. When Kuribayashi-chan - the third chair oboe - came to rehearsal crying, and you were about to ask what was wrong. You trusted me to handle it instead, and you were so _kind_ to her despite still getting over the shock of being Concertmaster. The indent you left on my bed after a movie, right next to mine. You, staying all afternoon to help me search for my missing oboe screw. When we were late for class, and you took a drink of water and licked your lips afterward..." He wets his own. "I made a mistake," he repeats, almost puzzled. It’s adorable.

Chikara watches Akaashi withdraw his hand to clutch his other arm. The music stand is suddenly an obstacle instead of a support, and Ennoshita lifts it to the side, removing the distance between them. He places his instrument on a padded chair a few steps away, and reaches for Akaashi's oboe, their hands meeting at the joint between the oboe's upper and lower sections. Akaashi's knuckles are cold from the room's air conditioning, and Chikara gently removes the oboe from his grasp.

"Not a mistake," Chikara says.

Akaashi's eyes widen. Chikara turns away with the oboe, still talking. He takes his time, careful to arrange the instruments in such a way that the violin prevents the oboe from rolling to the floor and smashing apart. "I thought you were beautiful when I first saw you. And maybe you get that a lot, but after getting to know you I haven't changed my mind. I'd understand if you think your feelings are a mistake. But for all the change, the uncertainty that only grows the more I learn, I haven't regretted anything. That includes not auditioning, and auditioning again, because I wouldn't have met you." He steps back, surveys his work, and moves to turn back to Akaashi. "You-"

Chikara doesn't finish, because he's interrupted by deft hands that catch his face, turn his mouth to meet lips that are swollen from oboe playing and chewed on from worry. Akaashi pushes closer, not deepening the kiss, but desperate for nearness. Chikara's mind takes a beat to register what's happening, but one of his hands wind around Akaashi's waist, the other up to tangle into curly dark hair, and he's kissing back.

They eventually put their instruments away, instead going over the elements of the music one last time before the recital. They don't mention what they just said. But Chikara pulls his chair angled slightly away, the only indication being his knee brushing Akaashi's every time he leans over to compare parts.

When their practice session time is up, Chikara turns the light off. Then there is darkness everywhere, everywhere, as Akaashi kisses him once more.

The reed Akaashi was soaking when he kissed Chikara is irredeemably ruined, but he refuses to throw it away.

"You'll mix that up with a good reed," Chikara chides him. They're on the floor of Akaashi's room, legs splayed lazily about. Rain drops spot the window that, more frequently, invites the sunlight in.

"You worry too much," Akaashi huffs. But at Chikara's look, he obediently rises on his knees and slips the defective reed into a desk drawer. When Akaashi settles back down, Chikara takes his hand to kiss his knuckles. Akaashi flushes red, which he's only started doing after he and Chikara started dating. The day after their first kiss, his cheeks tinged with pink even for the briefest of Chikara's looks during rehearsal.

"Akaashi woke me up last night," Chikara overheard Bokuto saying to Michimiya while they're oiling their tuba valves. "I heard him through the walls. He said 'SHIT' really loudly. He never makes that much noise or swears. Why do you think he said that? He really needed a shit at 3am? But he usually just goes!"

Michimiya giggled. "I think he's figured out how Ennoshita-san makes him feel."

Oikawa says nothing more about his own meddling. But the concerto goes off without a hitch, with Chikara and Akaashi's solos praised for their "blending and teamwork."

Nothing changes drastically. They were already friends, still attend classes together, watch movies together, and argue over the merits of a film. But there is an element that blurs them together, where their lines begin and end. When Chikara needs to restring another string, he can find extras in the bottom drawer of Akaashi's desk. He can't find his brand new sweatshirt in the closet, before remembering he lent it to Akaashi for the walk back to his dorm in the cold night. They watch movies in the dark of Chikara’s room, arms and legs bumping occasionally and sometimes on purpose. And Chikara can reach across those few centimeters, and take Akaashi's hand if he likes. When Akaashi snorts with laughter, Chikara can take his laughing face and taste the mirth on his lips.

They still do their homework with Hisashi and Kazu in the living room on Friday evenings, Chikara's dorm mates further delighted when Akaashi brings over whatever cooking experiments his own dorm mates have made. Sometimes Akaashi's accompanied by Washio, friends with fellow cellist Narita, and the reason why the cooking experiments generally turn out edible. When Yuu and Ryuu come over, the atmosphere becomes jovial and almost too much for the room to fit all of Yuu's charisma.

At the library, their favorite spot is still the great glass conservatory. The muted glow, reflected from the cloudy sky, casts a slated tinge over the vivid colors of the fabric colors.

If they sit on a certain couch, a dark green one with the plants angled just so, the plants obscure them from view. Chikara can nestle into its plush cushions, settled in for an afternoon of poring over seven different orchestra's bowing markings of Mendelssohn’s Overture, Calm Sea, and Prosperous Voyage, in preparation for the orchestra's upcoming festival performance.

And Akaashi can rest his head on Chikara's lap, looking toward the endless shelves peppered with knowledge, or up to the infinite sky.

 

* * *

 

 

_**Finale** _

 

To celebrate Nisshou’s school anniversary, the Shirobane Orchestra is performing the entire fifty five minutes of Rachmaninoff’s Symphony No. 2 in E Minor.

The piece was created in the wake of Rachmaninoff’s first symphony, which was disastrously received and sent him into a depression. Rachmaninoff spent three years recovering from the blow, composing other works and exploring the joys of conducting while composing his second symphony in complete secrecy. It was finally unveiled in January 1908, conducted by Rachmaninoff himself to resounding success. Comprised of four movements, it is varied, breathtaking, layered, and vivid, and built from his experiences with failure, pain, and triumph.

If Chikara is honest with himself, he voted for this piece because of its grand scale that is only possible with the combined efforts of the orchestra. He’s itching, in particular, to play the beautiful swell of notes that begins the third movement, the “false” melody that gives way to the clarinet solo played by the dependable Onaga. After the violins return alongside the cor anglais and the oboe, the orchestra drops to a pianissimo and then to a complete silence. The movement starts again, this time in which various solo instruments interject with ribbons of melodies that steadily interweave.

However, some of the to-be soloists don’t seem to be taking the pressure well.

Chikara spots the horn soloist, facing a corner. Second year Yachi Hitoka is staring at the stark wall like she wishes she can run straight through it, leaving a Yachi-sized hole in her bid for freedom. Her face is pale as a sheet, and she has a similarly white knuckled grip on her instrument. If Chikara didn't already know she was incapable of hurting a fly, he would've had a very real worry of her snapping the horn in half.

"Yachi-chan?" he ventures.

She jolts back to earth, throwing him a wild eyed stare. "Huh? Yes? Sorry, what is it?"

"How are you feeling?"

"Like I'm about to pass out," she says sheepishly. "Was it that obvious?"

"Not particularly." Chikara tries the tactful route, but he caves upon Yachi's frown. "Okay, it was very obvious."

She sighs. Her fingers very slightly lose their death grip. "I've been like this since high school. Don't get me wrong - I love playing the horn! But I thought performing would get easier, and the feeling is different every time. The nerves have become more manageable, but this doesn't become any less terrifying."

Chikara considers telling Yachi the obvious: she clearly loves playing, from the way she bobs her head along with the beat and inserts that bounce into her music. She's capable; she wouldn't be both first chair and section leader otherwise. She can produce the roundest, purest tone he's ever heard from any horn. But her hands have resumed their choke hold as she waits for his response, and Chikara decides there's only one way to go. He can trust her with a secret, after all.

"I'm nervous too," he confesses, very quietly.

"B-but you're a third year! And concertmaster!"

"It doesn't become any less terrifying." Being concertmaster doesn't mean he gets used to it or stops being scared. It just means new experiences.

Yachi stares at him for a shocked moment, before they grin at each other like co-conspirators. It's Chikara's first official performance as concertmaster, and he's telling the truth: his legs wobble like jelly, and he reminds himself it's just like rehearsal, just like it. Old habits die hard, and Chikara wonders if he'll ever shake this one, the one where his stomach churns uncomfortably with the performance pressure. He knows Oikawa's somewhere in the audience, along with the rest of the graduates. For all of playing's hardships he still loves music, but this tendency he could do without.

"Ah, then... Ah! Don't worry about me!" Predictably, Yachi immediately forgets her own worries when someone else brings their own up. She flaps the arm that's not chained to her instrument to shoo Chikara away. "I was just spacing out a bit. I'll go in this corner and do some deep breathing. I'll be fine once we start! Go ahead, we need to tune!"

They actually have plenty of time to tune. But Chikara surveys the room and notes everyone (excluding Yuu, who's almost bouncing off the stage with excitement) have tight smiles tinged with green, and he decides the sooner they warm up, the better. The performance high won't decrease, but at least everyone will have time to grow accustomed to the feeling.

Apparently Yahaba has the same thought. He taps Chikara on the shoulder. "Hey, let's get some control here. The atmosphere is much too tense for my liking."

"I guess it’s to be expected," Chikara says. “This is the first time a lot of these players are playing solos.”

Yahaba groans. Perhaps other conductors would put on a brave face for the sake of appearances, but Yahaba isn’t that type. And he and Chikara know each other quite well, at this point. “Don’t remind me. I didn’t sleep a _wink_ last night. And my stomach’s in knots, knowing Oikawa-san and the other former fourth years are in the audience. If this doesn’t go well, Aihara’ll have my head.”

“She sent us flowers, actually. I think you’ll be fine.”

“I’ve only been used to coming in just to play piano pieces with the orchestra. It’s really a different view - well, none at all - with my back to the audience, but somehow there’s _more_ pressure.” Yahaba stares at him. “How can you be so calm?”

“Are you serious? I’m the equivalent of Hinata’s stomach right now.”

“At least I’m not the only one.”

"Well, let's play a good concert." Chikara cuffs him lightly on his right arm, the hand of which has a firm grip on the baton's bulb. "We're counting on you, maestro."

Yahaba begrudgingly breaks into a smile. "And I on you, Concertmaster.” He claps his hands, raises his voice to address the room. “Oi! Let’s take our seats and get warmed up.”

Yamaguchi just manages to walk himself to his seat in the front row, his legs shaking badly enough to almost give way under him. Hisashi's whispering to his viola as if in encouragement, while in the cello section Kazu's explaining what Hisashi's doing to a nonplussed Washio.

Chikara steps onto the podium, raising himself to be seen. He looks out at the silent sea of faces, turned up like expectant sunflowers. Yuu gives him a thumbs up, and Ryuu’s raring to go with his trumpet specially polished for the occasion.

Chikara's gaze continues to rove. There's one player in turn that he's searching for.

When his eyes find Keiji's, the oboist respectfully inclines his head in a nod. Chikara watches Keiji insert the reed into his mouth, thinks of Keiji's thin lips, warm and swollen after a concert, pressed firm against his. It's really not the time, but Keiji seems to know what he's thinking, his mouth curving up around his reed.

Chikara raises his right hand to count Keiji off, and with the gesture his thoughts return to the music before them.

"On three, then," he says.

On the third count Keiji's firm, clear tuning "A" rings out, and the orchestra follows when Chikara raises his other hand. But Chikara can still hear Keiji through the layers of sound - a timbre that's refined but _there_ , reassured and true.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Sleeping At Last's "Pluto" was my Ennoshita song. I kept it on repeat as I wrote, and it inspired the fic's title.
> 
> Please don't comment on how I should have matched certain characters with certain instruments. Do feel free to ask why I assigned the characters the way I did! (I made a full orchestra list if anyone is interested.)
> 
> Fun fact: I was, like, in love with Kiyora in the Nodame Cantabile drama. I wanted a Concertmaster who was similarly tall, direct, and cool, so I went with Aihara Mao. 
> 
> To save time in case people ask, I'll explain why I decided on oboist!Akaashi and violinist!Ennoshita.
> 
> In this interview (http://mic.com/articles/20421/5-things-you-never-knew-about-the-oboe-and-the-musicians-behind-it), a professional oboist describes an oboist as "part musician, part craftsman, part woodworker, and part scientist. We’re all super nerdy in our quest for beauty and expression." And I saw that description fitting Akaashi. He's meticulous, in how careful he is monitoring Bokuto's state in-game and having memorized entire lists of Bokuto's moods. The oboe is finicky, delicate, and does what it likes. It sings on its best days, honks on its worst, and goes off tune easily. The embouchure is difficult to maintain over long periods because of the double reed and lack of mouthpiece. Thus, playing the oboe requires muscle strength, ears sensitive to tone and pitch, and a delicacy to bring out the oboe's potential for a spectrum of expression. Oboists play the tuning note for groups (Bb for concert bands, A for orchestras). This, to me, suited Akaashi because he's in essence "setting" the note to the orchestra.
> 
> As for Ennoshita, I discussed his potential instrument with Alex. An orchestra has a much higher proportion of string players to woodwinds, brass, and percussion put together. It's easy for him to feel lost in the crowd, dispensable. The violin's tone, also difficult to tame, can be beautiful in the right hands. And I think Ennoshita is the type who, even if he's not entirely sure of himself, will patiently work with something and develop confidence, more than he previously thought he was capable of. Concertmaster is usually for skilled first violins. But Ennoshita isn't lacking in skill; rather, he needs confidence and time, and this fic was more about his arriving at a higher point he's set. There's also a humanistic element to the job that isn't immediate to the players. It's the balance of maintaining good communication channels between musicians and conductors and between the musicians themselves, as well as carrying out the conductor's interpretations in a work's bowing and articulation. 
> 
> (plus the Concertmaster's in charge of tuning and they gesture to the oboe AHHHHHHHHH)
> 
> i'm pretty sure my hands fell off after i finished writing this thing but it was worth it to have two paragraphs to ramble about my favorite symphony. PSA: PLEASE LISTEN TO RACHMANINOFF'S SECOND SYMPHONY it's BLOODY BEAUTIFUL MY DESCRIPTIONS DOn"T DO IT JUSTICE
> 
> oh yes you can find this puddle of a person at @beneathelm on twitter and pommetree.tumblr.com


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